


Blessed Be the Boys Time Can't Capture

by malnourishedmermaid



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 01:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7199849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malnourishedmermaid/pseuds/malnourishedmermaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or 5 times Bucky realizes he loves Steve and the one time Steve tells him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blessed Be the Boys Time Can't Capture

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to a lot of Frank Sinatra.

1)

The first time, Bucky had been too young to truly realize what love even was. Sure, he loved his ma and father, or what he at least had remembered of him. His mother was ailing and he didn’t know how much time she had left. Obviously, he loved Becca, as she was all he had and he swore to protect her at all costs. He loved growing up in the 1920’s, with all the excitement and energy. School was a breeze for him, excelling in both sports and academics with ease. History was a subject he found himself excited about, especially since the world had just recovered from a world and there was so much information to learn. Running home to regurgitate all this knowledge to Becca was also something he loved. 

However, what Bucky had not expected to love a tiny punk, forty pounds soaking wet, who couldn’t seem to understand his size and his inability to take on kids twice his size. Stumbling upon the blonde boy trying to fight several other boys, who Bucky could recognize as bullies, he had to intervene. He had tapped the largest boy on the shoulder and waited until he turned to look at him to sock him in the jaw. Sure, young Bucky didn’t necessarily have the strongest punch, but he did have the element of surprise. One sickening blow and the fight was on. Bucky against a group of young boys. Well, the blonde boy was trying to help as best he could.

It wasn’t until the teachers had dragged them all apart, yelling warnings and threats to halt the battle, that he even got a look at the boy. Breathing heavily, shoulders heaving, he let his eyes fall on the child. He was smaller than Bucky had originally thought; small frame, even for their age, with exceptionally bony knees and elbows. His hair was now matted with mud and what could have been blood, and there were scrapes all over himself. He lifted an inhaler to his swollen lips, choking down the air and exhaling slowly. Bucky was intrigued, to say the least.

He ran to catch up with the blonde boy on his way home, hand extended and charming grin in place, “I’m Bucky.”

“Steve,” the boy -  _ Steve -  _ answered politely, hard expression melting upon making eye contact with the larger boy. They shook hands, Steve’s small hand in Bucky’s larger, both with bruises and cuts. “I should thank you, for saving my butt and all.”

Bucky only gave a quick bark of a laugh. “Wouldn’t have to if you didn’t keep getting yourself into fights. You do realize you’re tiny, right kid?” He could feel Steve stiffen next time him.  _ Oh, gosh, if he screwed up this earl- _

“He was being rude to a dame, claiming that his pal could hit her because hitting girls means you like ‘em. And that his friend was just flirtin’.”

_ Oh. _

“I was just protecting her, no one gets to treat a lady like that. My ma raised me better,” he continued. “It was only the one boy at the start, then they all joined in. Didn’t expect it, t’ be honest.”

And  _ wow,  _ if Bucky weren’t impressed by the boy before, he sure was then. This was the kind of boy,  _ no, man,  _ his ma had wanted him to be when he grew up. His companion was way ahead of anything they were being taught.  _ Morals,  _ he repeated in his mind,  _ Stevie has morals. But- _

“Can I call ya Stevie?”

The boy blushed,  _ actually blushed,  _ a faint pink rising in his cheeks. “I s’pose, since you rescued me and all.”

Yup, Bucky knew that this was a boy he would protect for a long time.

  
  


2) 

The second time was later in their lives. He and Steve were living in a small, drafty apartment. Bucky had practically begged Steve to move in with him after the death of Sarah Rogers. The last thing anyone should be after the loss of a parent was alone, especially in a house they had shared. And after his own mother’s death, Steve and Sarah had graciously offered their own home until he was able to get back on his feet. Becca had left, independent and strong, and the Rogers’ were basically his family prior anyways. Then it was just Bucky and Steve, the former working at the docks and any other odd jobs to scrape up enough money to live. Because, although Steve had a job and was adamant on paying his part, his health was awful at best. Simple colds that would wipe anyone else out for a day managed to keep Steve’s frail frame bedridden for up to a week at a time. 

He was just as small as when Bucky had first found him, albeit a tad bit larger (mostly height, the kid was still skinny as hell). But the kid had spunk, and he was a genuine human and loved endlessly. Regardless of all the dames he had played matchmaker with for Steve, none seemed to stick around. In relation to his health, the smaller man was not always up to going to dance halls with his pal, which Bucky accepted. It was lonelier, but the ladies kept him distracted enough to get some alcohol in his system.

Which was why he was stumbling into the flat, cold as the night air and drunker than he had been in a while, and shucking off his clothes. He needed to get warm,  _ fast,  _ and he had always been a firm believer in sharing body heat for warmth. Not because he was a sucker for human contact with those he cared about, because all he had was Steve and they only huddled for  _ warmth _ . 

Steve, to his credit, only jumped slightly when Bucky’s large form crawled into his cot, naked except for his underwear, and wrapping his limbs around Steve. The octopus impersonation was returned and the two of them cuddled, Steve’s head resting on his friend’s chest, listening to his racing heartbeat calm slowly. Bucky’s fingers carded through his blonde hair, soothing, as if Steve was the one who had come home intoxicated. He was sure he reeked of booze and smoke and perfumes, but Steve was nothing if not a saint, taking everything in stride. And he was funny, always down to snuggle up with warm drinks. He was such a hard worker and kind and  _ gosh. _

“Y’know, Stevie,” he slurred, “you’re great.”

Steve rolled his eyes, even though Bucky couldn’t see. “Thanks, Buck.”

“No, I mean it. I don’t know why all these dames ain’t snatching ya up.” Pushing him away, Bucky cupped Steve’s jaw in his hands, thumb stroking his cheekbones. “It’s ‘cause you’re prettier than them,” he reasoned, grinning when he blushed, eyes averted. “Hey, dollface, get used to it. I mean, just look at you. All blushin’ and shit. They’re just jealous.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Yeah, but I ain’t blind.”

Steve only sighed, resting his head back of Bucky’s chest as the latter began to drift off.  _ Okay,  _ so he didn’t mention all of his other qualities. But hey, it was a really long list.

 

3) 

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. Steve was no longer five-foot-nothing, 95 pounds soaking wet. Rather, he was towering Bucky at, at least 6’ tall. And weighing over twice his previous weight, _maybe even three times._ This was the first time he got to really study the new body. _Captain America’s body,_ he reminded himself. This was no longer just Stevie from Brooklyn, but a man on a mission. And he’ll be damned, a larger Steve wasn’t so bad.

For starters, there was more of Steve to share body heat in the trenches and in the tents. Keeping each other warm was no longer a one person job. Other men were able to take him seriously, now, as well. Which angered Bucky because Steve was someone who he believed everyone could benefit from listening to him, regardless of size. After years of torment, however, Steve finally had a body that was able to fit his heart. Hypothetically, of course. The man was made to be a moral compass, since that faithful day as kids to, Bucky was sure, long after the war. He was the kind of man young kids could look up to. 

Not to mention the physical changes. Now, it should be mentioned that Bucky Barnes did not give his own sexuality much thought. He knew how the public felt about men liking men, as goes for women, but he worked on the docks. He heard stories, and he drunkenly fooled around in his day. His eyes also worked and he could recognize beauty when he seen it. Beauty he could find in Steve’s strong jaw and broad shoulders, slim waist and powerful thighs. The outfit Captain America had was ridiculous but he could deal. Besides, it really emphasized his, er, attributes. 

_ Captain booty reporting for duty,  _ he thought, snorting and laughing. Said captain was watching him carefully with those baby blue eyes, as if Bucky had gone crazy within the prior seconds. Which wasn’t that far off, considering he was now picturing  _ himself between those strong thighs, hands gripping that slim waist, plush lips- _

“Bucky?” Snapping out of his trance, he blinked back to reality. Reality being his best friend snapping his fingers in front of his face, trying to regain his attention.

He swatted at the hand, “Aye, aye, Cap.”

Steve frowned, “You’re distracted. What’s on your mind?”

Blushing, Bucky cleared his throat. “Just about a dame back home, ya know?” The grin flipped into a grin, because no, Steve would not know. Not even close. It was when his heart started racing in response to the smile that Bucky knew he was screwed. This was no brotherhood love. Not even close. Steve Rogers, his childhood best friend, now stood in front of him, ducking into their tent, throwing back a look that suggested he did not believe Bucky completely. But because he was such a good friend, he wouldn’t press the matter until another day.

That night, the two men stretched out side by side in the small tent. Both bodies were pressed together much like they did in the past. This time, however, no limbs were intertwined. It wasn’t that Bucky didn’t trust himself,  _ more that he didn’t trust his anatomy to cooperate,  _ it was that he feared he would embarrass himself. Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem. After all, Bucky embarrassed himself in front of Steve all the time. They saw each other naked all the time, both back in Brooklyn and during the war. Pre-serum and post-serum. Bucky was well aware of all the assets the new body came with, but he hadn’t exactly acknowledged his more risquee thoughts until then. Not to suggest that he didn’t have thoughts of a similar nature prior to the growth spurt, lord knows he pined after his small friend.

Steve nudged him with his foot. “Hey Buck?”

“Yeah?” he inquired, turning to face him.

“You’re shivering.”

“ ‘M fine,” Bucky insisted, grumpy.

His friend’s frown deepened. “C’mere.”

“Steve-”

“Come  _ here,”  _ he demanded. His tone inspired Bucky to curl into Steve’s open arms, warmth embracing his cold form. “See? Isn’t this better?” Bucky only groaned in response, not willing to dignify that he was wrong. He could feel Steve’s smile when the blonde pressed a kiss to the crown of his head and Bucky’s heart swelled. Pulling him closer, Bucky buried in his head into the crook of Steve’s neck, under his chin. 

And yeah, he would deny it to anyone who ever asked, but Bucky could picture himself doing this every night for the rest of his life.

 

4)

Face covered by a cap, metal arm hidden by a jumper, and identity removed by all the torture, the Winter Soldier stood, hands in pockets, in a museum exhibit. Although the Smithsonian wasn’t a location America’s deadliest assassins in history would often find himself. Something was wrong, he knew. As a trained weapon, it would make sense to find out who he was up against. He was briefed on the target,  _ Captain America,  _ because the former soldier had gotten in the way. The man acted as if he had recognized the Winter Soldier, which was ludicrous in any situation. 

The face on the screen in the memorial for Captain America’s men was identical to his own. If he ignored the length of hair and the spark that was no longer in his eye, the Winter Soldier would believe them to be related. But he wasn’t even human, only a  _ weapon. _ No family to his name, no history, nothing.

_ “James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes,”  _ it read, “ _ was Steve Rogers best friend, inseparable in both the schoolyard and the battle field.  Sergeant Barnes was the only member of the Howling Commandos to give his life in the line of duty.”  _

The soldier stared, brows furrowed. The man - _ Captain America , no, Steve -  _ had called him “Bucky” earlier. Not only did the man on the bridge recognize him, the soldier thought that he was familiar. Pierce assured him that he was from a previous mission prior to wiping his memory again.

Wincing, the soldier lifted his right hand to his forehead, rubbing fingers into the flesh at the spark of pain. Flashes of what could have been memories lit up in the back of his head on occasion. He kept finding himself trying to make sense of everything but to no avail. They continuously wiped his memory, he was aware, but it was so he could focus on the next mission. So why did he remember the tall blonde? 

Staring at the photographs of the two men, the soldier’s eyes widened. In one photo, and video, stood the blonde, arm slung over the shoulders of the man identical to himself. Swallowing, his heart rate increased, blood pounding in his ears. 

_ Blue eyes peered into his own, lashes fluttering with the edge of sleep receding. A large hand cradling his jaw, thumb brushing over his cheekbone lovingly.  It was cold, too cold to be comfortable, but the blonde had his limbs entwined with his own, sharing body heat.  It was also still night, few men on watch but not them, not that night. Instead, he found himself  leaning in towards the larger man, gaze falling to his lips, a look mirrored by the other.  The corners of his mouth twitched up in a smirk, comfortable on his face. His heart raced in anticipation. They had done this plenty of times in the past, but it always felt like the first time.  _

_ When the blonde finally pushed him back, he collapsed on the ground. He was smiling now, hand reaching up to cup his partner’s jaw, just like the other had done to him earlier. His fingers sank into the short blonde hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him down. The mouth that rested perfectly on his was warm and gentle, lips barely grazing his own; hesitant.  A hand rested on his hip, squeezing encouragingly, causing his pelvis to turn up to the man on top of him. The brunette pressed towards the other, tongue barely touching the sealed lips on his before they opened, allowing the kiss to deepen. He was unable to help the sigh that escaped him, Steve humming in agreement. _

Steve. His name was Steve. Not the soldier’s, but the man he kissed. But-

The soldier ground his teeth, eyes squeezing shut. He turned away from the exhibit, hands clenched. He needed answers. They wouldn’t be found in the museum, nor back in Pierce’s lab. This couldn’t be him, could it? The exhibit claimed that Bucky Barnes had died in the war, but when the Soldier woke up, the war was practically over. So how - ?

Growling quietly to himself, the soldier stormed out of the museum and into the daylight. There was a moment of confusion. His mind kept wandering back, along with the piercing pain in his head, to the plush lips and hot mouth.  _ The way he shuddered when he touched him, hands trailing down his abdomen, muscles tensing as he tried to bring himself closer.  _

_ Mouth migrating from his, Bucky (that was his name, if the gasped pleads were anything to go by) whined in protest, needing Steve. Biting his lip to prevent any sounds from escaping,  Steve grinned against his throat, stubble scratching his skin. Hips aligned, Bucky pulled the blonde closer, groaning at the friction. _

The soldier ( _ Bucky? _ ) shook his head, stalking down the street until he broke into a run, diving down alleyways as if being followed. Memories bombarded him and he ripped the hat off his head, pulling at his hair which was much longer than Bucky Barnes. Pressed up against a brick wall, _ like Steve would press against his back _ , he slid to the ground, skin scratched by the surface. His breaths were coming fast and panicked as moments slid into his head; ones of him as a young boy, wiping blood off of the blonde’s knee after he fell. Sprinting to his house because some jerk kid told him that Steve was going to die because he was sick,  _ again.  _ Nights shared huddled as one or both of them grieved a loss. When Bucky was larger than Steve, and how he felt between his thighs, and how he was the only one Steve had let have him. He could remember the declarations of affection and all the promises made. He could remember being saved and it was cold and there was a freight car; trains racing through the winter wilderness. He could recreate the faces of the members of the Howling Commandos in his mind, the sensation of frozen metal against his body and could  _ hear  _ Steve shouting for him as his feet were taken from under him. The gust of wind pillowing his body as he fell before it all went dark. But what resonated in his mind was not his arm being torn off or the guns or the death. It was heartbreak on his best friend’s face and the love he had in his eyes and the satisfied grin after sex.

_ Shit,  _ he thought, shaking as tears escaped against his wishes,  _ the man on the bridge was familiar because it was his first love. _

 

5)

 

There’s so much blood.

Bucky is,  _ was,  _ a trained assassin, deadliest in the United States of America, famous in Russia and other nations. He was a weapon designed for mass destruction. He killed for others, he killed Tony Stark’s parents. So maybe it was only right that Stark got to take him out. The Winter Soldier didn’t have to deal with guilt; his mind was erased before he got a chance to. But watching that video of the murders, standing behind the son of those he killed, Bucky Barnes felt his throat close up. His chest was tight and he couldn’t breathe, and then he was being attacked. 

Of course Steve had tried to stop it, he was on Bucky’s side, for some reason.  _ “I’m with you til the end of the line.”  _ He always had Bucky’s back, from Brooklyn to now. It was intense, both the fight and the love they had. However, he didn’t find having his arm torn off,  _ again,  _ a decent metaphor for anything. There was no humor to be found, and he was lying on the cold floor, bleeding heavily from a stump. It must have been forgotten how much of his actual arm was attached to the metal. Although not much, Stark had ripped off enough that is was like losing his actual limb again. He was back on the freight car.

Except this time, Steve was pulling him back up. One hand holding onto his right arm, other arm wrapped around the smaller man’s body, holding him upright. Fortunately, or not depending, he was unable to process the searing pain in his side, radiating into every nerve and lighting him on fire. The sensation didn’t reach his brain as the two stumbled out of the building, Stark left to figure himself out. Steve was also covered in blood, much of it his own from the fight. The ground was red as well, soaking into the snow.

The ride to Wakanda wasn’t one he remembered, it was all a blur. But what he could recall was T’Challa calling for help and Steve’s panicked face, the same one he had when Bucky fell. It was a sick sense of deja vu and the universe was not funny. The blonde’s brows were furrowed, tears welling in his eyes at witnessing the state Bucky was in. Voices were loud and the lights were bright, but what Bucky focused on was Steve’s, “I’m with you, Buck.”

Giving a weak smile, he grabbed Steve’s hand with his right, ignoring the IV in his arm. “Till the end of the line.”

In return, he received a watery grin from his best friend. “Till the end of the line,” he echoed, voice cracking. 

 

When he awoke, his whole body ached. Not in a necessarily negative way, like you-remembered-so-we-cleared-your-memory way. More in a you-just-survived way. He was alive, hell. Looks like the universe wasn’t going to screw him over completely. To his right, judging from the heavy breathing rather than opening his eyes, Steve sat, forehead resting on the edge of Bucky’s bed. Fighting against the drowsiness, the brunette opened his eyes and peered over at his best friend. His hair was ruffled from running his hands through it and he had dark circles under his eyes. There were stitches lining his face, bruises and minor contusions. Still, beaten and battered, he was beautiful.

It made him grin, and when he caught Steve’s eye, he visibly relaxed, hands grabbing Bucky’s. 

His decision was made. “Steve,” he began with determination. “I’m going back under.”

Steve tensed, eyes going cold. “Why? You’re fine. You’re great.”

Bucky had the sudden urge to cry because  _ god, this kid.  _ His heart would never fit inside a body, he loved endlessly and hopelessly. Just like back as a kid. Scrawny or over six feet tall of pure muscle, it was still Steve Rogers, tiny lover from Brooklyn who just wanted the world to be a better place. No one else could look at Bucky and see any good in him. Given, Steve knew him from childhood, and even then he wasn’t nearly as good of a person as his smaller friend. 

_ I’m doing this for you,  _ he wanted to say.  _ So we can go back to how we were.  _ Rather, he settled on, “I still have all this shit in my mind, stuff that Zola put in and I need to get rid of it. To be safe.” He nodded in understanding, still visibly upset.

 

So he sat on a hospital bed.  _ Not a hospital,  _ he reminded himself. He had no idea when he would wake up but the way Steve looked at him reassured him that it would be worth it. They were only standing a breaths width apart and he was itching to grab him. So, because he was about to go under until who knew when, he reached out with his remaining hand and cupped the back of Steve’s neck. “It’ll be okay,” he promised.

Steve sniffed, eyes watery, but nodded. There was a stretched moment of silence, Bucky unsure of how to proceed and Steve in his own head. It was tense and uncomfortable and not what he wanted to leave Steve with. So, as any (kind of) sane person (super soldier) would do, he pulled the man towards him, mouth slanting over his. It caught Steve by surprise, who stumbled, nose bumping into Bucky’s. He quickly regained his composure, arms wrapping around the other man, head tilting to deepen the embrace. Gently nipping at his bottom lip, Steve pulled away, resting his forehead against Bucky’s.

“I’m going to miss you,” he admitted, making the brunette smile sadly.

“Yeah, but I’ll be back, and better than ever.”

 

+1)

 

It was early on in Sam’s list that he recommended Frank Sinatra, as it was not far after Steve’s time that some of his greatest hits were released. And Steve enjoyed it, but Bucky really enjoyed it. So there they were, in their small apartment in Brooklyn ( _ “Nothing beats the classics, Stevie”)  _ with Sinatra’s hits playing on vinyl. Sam and Barton would surely poke fun at them for being a stereotypical old couple, and Nat would go on to punch them both in the shoulder because she was fiercely protective of Bucky once he woke back up and Steve had called her to explain. 

So there they stood, in their small Brooklyn apartment, swaying along to the voice of Frank Sinatra. Bucky had chosen to wear the prosthetic Stark had built him (“ _ Just as useful and functional as a real arm. Without all the tricky bits.” Whatever that meant.)  _ and had it resting on Steve’s shoulders. His real hand was clasped in Steve’s, with Steve’s right hand on Bucky’s waist. Temples resting on one another, the two would take turns nudging the other with their nose until both would tilt their heads to meet their lips halfway. The embraces never lasted longer than a moment, a brief touch to draw one another out from their thoughts and back to the moment. Bucky’s fingers tangled themselves in Steve’s hair, memorizing all the details he observed in those seconds. The softness of his hair against his temples, how sensitive he was when Bucky traced his throat with feather light touches, the sensation of his eyelashes fluttering against Bucky’s cheek. How every time their lips met, the hand on his waist tightened, pulling the smaller man closer. 

Intimate moments like such were a rarity in their lives, between all the chaos and nights spent in the Avengers’ Tower. They, of course, shared knowing looks that communicated the need to be away from the others, or a small comment unspoken to the rest. Memories that only the two of them had, knowing smiles that would have gone otherwise unnoticed. The slightest brush of fingers on Steve’s waist when Bucky passes, or the former’s fingers twining with metal appendages. 

Bucky had only begun to realize that his left arm was no longer a weapon, but a continuation of himself. Once Stark had gotten his hands on the limb he had replaced many of the functions and sensitivity. It was still stronger than his other arm, built to sustain as much force as before. It lacked the red star that was on the first version, but Steve had painted one on when Bucky was found tracing his fingers over where it would have been. Clint had teased them that they wanted to be matching and it wasn’t entirely inaccurate. After the star was resurrected, Steve had spent a good amount of time trailing his fingers, feather-light, up and down the metal limb, writing and designing in the touches, until Bucky had begun to doze off. With the new arm, Bucky was allowed to feel as he could with his right when he wanted to. Sensors connecting to the former road of his brain that Hydra had put in, severed when Stark had torn the arm off during battle. Now, with the help of Banner, Tony had been able to alter the sensors so that Bucky could  _ choose  _ (although it took lots of practice and even then, he was still having difficulty) how much of the sensations got to his brain.  _ (“Like when you fall from a high spot and break some bones, for example. Your brain halts the messages running through your nerves that would tell your brain that you’re in pain,” Banner explained).  _

Using his left hand, Bucky began scrawling out patterns onto Steve’s skin, where his shirt had ridden up. Temple resting against his best friend’s, he could almost hear the gears turning as he tried to figure out what he was writing. At first, it was merely random designs but began to take on a life of its own, printing out words. The same words he told Steve time and time again before the war, but never with so much emotion behind it. The third time he wrote it out, it was on the fifth letter, an E, that Steve froze. Stiff, but still swaying. Bucky’s heart sped up as Steve pulled away, dropping Bucky’s hands slowly and studying his face.

Heart dropping, or in his throat, he couldn’t tell, Bucky’s eyes stayed on Steve’s face in anticipation. The younger man’s hands appeared at each side of Bucky’s face, hesitating, and then resting, one on his cheek, the other on his neck. Both metal and human hand landed on Steve’s hips, unsure.

Pulling Bucky in and pressing their foreheads together, he asked, “You mean it, Buck?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, eyes flicking from the blue eyes to lips. “I meant it when I said it all those years ago, Stevie. And I mean it now.”

The grin on Steve’s face stretched into a full-fledged smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he pulled Bucky towards him, mouth slanting over his. Their bodies pressed together, Steve’s hand tangled itself in Bucky’s hair, holding him to himself with the help of Bucky’s arms around his waist.  They had kissed before, and often did when given the chance. The words that were traced onto Steve’s back were not new by any means, since after the 40’s, neither one voiced it but it was well known knowledge between the two.

Pulling back, Steve help Bucky in place, blue eyes staring into Bucky’s. Lips pecked the smaller man’s nose, causing his face to scrunch up and Steve to chuckle. 

“I love you, too.”

And yeah, Bucky didn’t know if how long it would take for him to actually voice the words. Steve was patient with him, always was. He already knew how Bucky felt, it showed in his actions rather than words. Whether that be making breakfast in peaceful silence, or comforting one another after a nightmare, or with Steve straddling his hips, hands grasping Bucky’s. Sometimes it was teaming up during board games against other Avengers, early morning runs. It’s letting Steve comfort him and allowing himself to relax. 

The new Bucky was not as good with words as his previous self, but that never stopped his best friend from knowing what he meant.


End file.
